Margaret passed the bowl of popcorn to Gladys. “Gladys! How can you be so insensitive? She’s struggling. Can’t you see that?”

“Of course I can see that. That’s why it’s getting good!” Gladys scooped up a handful of popcorn in one hand and with the other, she deliberately ate one popped kernel at a time, while watching the drama unfold.

Basil walked over and sat next to Gladys. “Uh oh. She’s at it again, isn’t she.” Continue reading →

“Gladys, dear, I’m serving up some cherry pie. It’s still warm. Will you have a slice?”

“Margaret, it’s too early for pie. It isn’t even noon yet.”

Jon road up on his skateboard, “Since when do we have to worry about the time on this side? I’d love a slice of your pie, Margaret.” He leaned his board against a grave marker, “Actually, I think I’ll have pie for breakfast, lunch and dinner. That is if yer making it, Margaret.”

Margaret handed a slice of pie to Jon and giggled, “That’s the nice thing about this side. We’ll never run out of pie.” She scraped the server against the pie plate. “Gladys, if you don’t mind, dear, I’ve been wanting to ask you a question.”

Gladys sat down next to Margaret. “Go ahead. Ask away. Although I don’t know what I could possibly know that you don’t know.” Continue reading →

Guest Post by Jenn

Way back in May of this year I was dealing with issues stemming from the sideline Narcissist in my life. I call her a sideline Narcissist because she doesn’t live in my home, or in my town, but she very much influences my life because she raised my husband. Thank the Gods he managed to survive his childhood and now we have our own little darlings, who are also influenced by the sideline Narcissist. But I digress.

Back to the issue the sideline Narcissist was inconveniently causing back in May. After I had sent out an email to extended family members letting them know that we wouldn’t be traveling to Kentucky as we normally do, the husband received an email from his mother. She stated she would like the kids for two weeks in July and then again for another two weeks in August – at her house, which is ten hours away from where we live. The big problem here is that my MIL cannot physically handle the rigors of caring for two very active young boys plus their sister for more than a few days. She wanted them for two weeks at a time. Cue the drama where the sideline Narcissist does a happy dance.

So the husband and I actually agree that his mother cannot have the kids for two weeks. Then we even go so far as to agree that he should go with the kids for their one-week visit. We then agreed that he would talk to his mother about why she couldn’t have the kids by herself. And that’s where all the happy dancing on my end stopped because although the husband said he would talk to her, in reality it wasn’t happening. I even gave him a date to have it done by, since he’s horrible at procrastinating. That date came and he hadn’t had the TALK.

We were in July now, and I was angry – grinding my teeth and harrowing-in-my-gut angry – when I saw him. Because what I saw was that he wouldn’t talk to his mother even though it was in his kids’ best interests. He didn’t want me talking to the sideline Narcissist about this problem because I was “too aggressive” – in his words. Whereas what I saw was that he was entirely too passive. So I sat in my anger and I felt my body drawing in around me, and at some point I got tired of the anger. It takes a lot of energy to maintain that kind of anger and I didn’t want to do it anymore. So I pulled myself aside and had a chat. The fancy schmancy counseling degree I have teaches you certain skills. So I asked myself what I would do with some random dude off the street who walked in and had an angry wife and a mother he couldn’t talk to. And that’s when it hit me. Continue reading →

Margaret laughed as she tied on a crisp new apron. “Well, it’s a bit of a moot point now, isn’t it? Besides, I’m not sure we’re supposed to know the point, Gladys, dear. I was always too busy wiping noses, folding laundry, preparing meals and helping with homework to have even a moment to myself, let alone any spare time to think about the meaning of life. What do you think, Basil?”

“I don’t know either, Margaret.” Basil reached for his ever-present thermos of coffee. “For a long time I thought it was finding a decent job and then I figured it must be supporting my family, raising decent kids and being a good husband. Now, I don’t know.” Basil put down his cup of coffee, “Hey, Jon. What do you think?” Continue reading →

Guest Post by Anonymous

It ended with a coat…

An argument between my 12 year old son and my husband ended my 20 year marriage – all over a coat.

It was the Friday after Thanksgiving. We had spent the better part of three days at our niece’s house, as I was helping her host her first Thanksgiving – for 20 people, no less. We returned home Friday afternoon after a two-hour drive. I just wanted some quiet time so begged off from a housewarming party we were invited to attend. Husband and son were preparing to go without me when a fight broke out between them over son taking a coat which husband deemed appropriate for the weather, one which son hated and refused to consider. The fight escalated into an ugly scene – son locked husband out of house after being chased around the yard by him, in the dark. Continue reading →

“Hello. Cabernet or VO and water? What kind of a day did you have?” The bartender wiped the spot on the bar in front of her.

“I think I wanna try that white wine I see folks drinking. You know, with ice and a slice of lime. If the weather isn’t going to be summer-like, maybe a different drink will make it feel more like summer.” She opened her bag, found a twenty, and placed it on the bar. “It’s not very busy in here this afternoon.”

“It’s the start of the weekend. Schedules change in the summer. I like it a little quieter.” The bartender puts a wine glass down in front of her. “How are things in your world?”

“The usual. Well, the summer version of the usual, I guess. Kids are busy and happy to be done with school. I keep thinking things will slow down a bit, but that hasn’t happened yet.” She takes a sip and sighs. “Since it’s quiet, I have a weird story for you.”

The family had split into separate canoes some time ago. Initially, the paddling was difficult. The water was choppy and the canoe carrying the mother and the two children took on water more times than not. The father was in a canoe by himself. He didn’t seem to mind the rough waters. Truth be told, he seemed to prefer making waves and watching the other three struggle to keep their canoe afloat.

In time, the three found their rhythm. They paddled in sync and enjoyed the view. It wasn’t always smooth sailing, but they became adept at riding out the storms. They’d hunker down, breathe through the rapids, remember not to hang on too tightly (because that makes the ride more tense), and make each other laugh.

More recently, when his canoe approached, he’d be paddling more gently. She dared to believe that he might not want to rock their boat anymore. A couple sunny days found the canoes gliding side by side as the four exchanged stories of golf, fishing, and fairy gardens.

One afternoon, both canoes were beached as the four discussed a possible journey to be taken by the father and the two children. The mother was included, and they all smiled through the conversation. The talking was easy. Each opinion was heard. The children were asked to think about the proposed adventure and let the father know, the next day, if they planned to go with him. Continue reading →

I was cutting grass, head down, thinking about how the warm weather had finally gotten here as he wheeled around the corner on his scooter. I looked up to see a seven year old wearing a wrinkled, too small t-shirt and an expectant look on his face. I quit cutting and said, “How are you this morning?” He bounced in place, hopping on and off his scooter, “I’m okay. I wish I could play with my friends that live over there.” He pointed to a house a few doors down. “I bet you do. Maybe they like to sleep in on Saturday mornings. A lot of folks do that. It feels good, don’t you think?” He looked at me as he thought about it, “Yeah, I guess it does.”

And because I wanted to get my chores done so I could play in the sun, I went back to cutting the grass. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him watching me until he gave up and went back home.

A few minutes later, I heard the sounds of a basketball being dribbled around the corner. The sound kept getting louder. I’m ashamed to say that I didn’t look up at him. I can give you all the reasons why I didn’t. I’m not convinced that I could justify my reasons.

I kept cutting grass with my head down, listening to the basketball, afraid to strike up another conversation. If I chatted with him, he’d end up hanging in our driveway, drawing chalk smiley faces, eating cinnamony toast and finagling an invite to lunch. Only that’s not what he was hungry for. I know what he was hungry for. He was hungry for attention. Why else would a seven year old bounce a basketball in front of a middle-aged woman that he didn’t know – for what seemed like five solid minutes? Continue reading →

“Margaret, just a skinny sliver. Please! I wish I’d never discovered the deliciousness of your pies.”

Margaret chuckled and handed Gladys a plate with the smallest slice of lemon meringue. “Gladys, why do you still worry about your figure? Is that not one of the bonuses of being on this side? By the way, dear, what is your favorite kind?”

“Well, are we talking pie or men?” Gladys laughed as she watched Margaret wince.

“Oh, my! Well, I never. Well, sometimes I do. Oh! listen to me. I’m all flustered and Jon and Basil aren’t even here.” Gladys wiped the pie server on a cloth. “Since you brought it up, dear, what is your favorite kind – or is it type – of man?” Margaret fanned herself and adjusted her apron.

“Relax, Margaret. The guys won’t hear us. And so what if they did.” Gladys dabbed the corner of her mouth with an embroidered napkin. “In my experience, women and men have a type. No matter how many relationships they may have, their partners usually fall into the same category. Maybe he prefers brunettes. Maybe she prefers the quiet type. He needs to be mothered. She keeps trying to find the guy just like her dad. We all have a type.” Gladys reached for her bag to find a cigarette. Continue reading →

Margaret stood with a nearly empty pie pan in one hand, and a pie server in the other. “Hm… why are men so angry? Basil, you better help Jon with that one. I’m not sure I know the answer.”

Gladys fingered the beads of her necklace. “I’ll take a stab at that one, if you don’t mind, Basil. I’m guessing men are angry because the women of today don’t need them like the women in my generation needed men. Men don’t feel essential. They want to be needed, and today’s women are bending over backwards to prove that they don’t need men.”

“Oh my! You might be right, Gladys. Pie dear?”

“No thanks, Margaret. What do you think, Basil? Do you think I’m close on that one?”

Basil reached for his thermos. “I’m gonna need more coffee for this one.” He poured some in his cup and passed the thermos to Margaret. “I don’t know much about men wanting to feel essential, as you put it. I don’t know if that crosses a man’s mind. I never woke up in the morning and set about wonderin’ if I was essential. But, I did feel better when I had a purpose. I liked having to take care of my family and keep the roof over our heads. So maybe you are right. I felt needed and that meant that I mattered, and that felt good. Not that I would admit to that, since in my day, men never talked about their feelings.” Continue reading →

“Well, the Jack is easy. We’ll see how I do on the advice. What’s up?”

“I’ve been seeing an amazing woman. She’s smart, funny, beautiful, independent. She has friends and she’s tight with her family. She’s had a few relationships, so she’s already worked through stuff. Thing is… I dunno.”

“Ah…. sounds like I better leave the bottle of Jack right here. I’ll be back.” Continue reading →

“Have you noticed the anger coming out of them? They are all mad.” Gladys reached into her beaded bag for a cigarette.

Jon squirted oil on his bearings and gave the wheel a spin. “Why are they so angry? They’re alive. Isn’t that enough to keep ’em from being mad?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you, Jon. But all of them are angry. Some of them keep the anger bottled up. Some of them explode at the first provocation. It’s a shame, really. And by the way, I’ve made some fresh pie today – French Silk. That was my husband’s favorite. I made French Silk for every one of his birthdays. In fact, I often made him French Silk when he was angry about something. That’d do the trick every time.” Margaret reached behind to re-tie her flowered apron.

Jon put down his board and walked to Margaret’s side, “My mom made a chocolate pie. Is that what that is? I’d love some.” He takes a slice and leans against a grave marker. “So, Gladys, what are they mad about?”

Gladys exhales and says, “It’s more about who they are mad at. They are mad at their boss, or their boyfriend. Most often they are mad at their husband. A lot are mad at their mother or father. Hell, they’re mad at everyone.” Continue reading →